


The Script is Written and I Couldn’t Change a Thing

by iammisscullen



Category: One Direction
Genre: Achitect Zayn, Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Romance, Unrequited Love, Video Editor Harry, zeleanor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6331165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammisscullen/pseuds/iammisscullen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry may need more than just an expensive Gucci suit to guard his heart from breaking. That, or he needs to direct his own happily-ever-after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Script is Written and I Couldn’t Change a Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt from an anon: 'Hello! Do you take prompts for zarry writing?? If yes could you maybe right a one shot or something about zarry but dealing with the song [GOODBYE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snXipLhxc9k)\- by Who Is Fancy.' It's a zarry song alright.
> 
> Despite our 007 feud (because she's a Sean Connery girl, but Pierce was the best, hands down), I will be forever grateful to [goldleaveswithholesinthem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/goldleaveswithholesinthem%0A) for always helping me edit. She's a wonderful human being who deserves a pair of wings. (Tho, all remaining mistakes are mine)
> 
> Title from SOMETHING GREAT because it's one of the best songs by 1D.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 _you were the sky_  
_and I could do nothing but_  
_stare at you longingly_

 _hoping inside that one day_  
_a star would fall to earth;_  
_a small glimpse of how_  
_you’d shine for me._

**-k.p.k**

 

Study shows that women have more party clothes than men. If you ask a woman what’s her favourite dress, she’ll probably have at least five and she’ll still run it down to two and then that’s the end. She won’t be able to choose.

It’s not really a sexist thing since it’s not all women, just most of them. And maybe it’s because women are more sentimental than men and they have a massive taste in clothing. That is also not a bad thing.

So, as women will have at least five dresses to choose over for special occasions, most men on the other hand with their impatience and practicality only have one suit for parties. Normal, non-businessmen will at least have one suit, just one because that’s enough.

And Harry, being a bloke, had only one suit that he had since he was nineteen; the suit he bought when his Aunt Lisa married Mark. It’s the second suit he’d bought in his entire twenty-five years of existence; the first suit he ever bought was for his prom when he was sixteen, would no longer fit him – shoulders too tiny, trousers and blazer sleeves too short.

Currently, Harry’s in Harrod’s trying on a Gucci suit that cost more than five months of his flat rent. Fortunately, he’s not paying. No, every penny will come from his Zayn’s AmEx because Zayn Malik can afford any suit that he wants for himself and for others, apparently.

Harry didn’t want Zayn to pay, he was ready to visit every thrift shop he knows in London to find a suitable attire (yes, pun intended). But Zayn insisted and long story short, here’s Harry shopping for the 3rd suit he will ever own in his short life. And Paula, the ginger lady with twin girls – Hannah and Harriet – is kind enough to help Harry in his dilemma, because what the fuck does Harry know about suits?

He doesn’t know anything about suits. But ask him about movies and he’ll tear your ear off over _The Godfather_ – all three of them – and then some _Schindler’s List_ because he worships Spielberg. And just to say he’s not at all a movie snob, he’ll chat with you about _Kill Bill._

He’s thinking of watching _Gone With the Wind_ again tonight or maybe mess around a bit and make a parody video about _Casablanca_ in _Jurassic World_. He’ll get some good scenes to have Chris Pratt in the former because this is what Harry’s good at: movies.

He’s never good at clothes because he wears his t-shirts and jeans for work every day. He didn’t need to be preppy and gorgeous to sit behind his desk work and edit short video presentation for various events that the company he’s working for was booked.

Speaking of work, he better hurry with his shopping because he needs to finish three presentation before the end of January. Marcus, the head of their department, gave him all the weddings for February and he needs to choose the perfect music background for the videos as well. He can’t just throw in _All of Me_ and _Thinking Out Loud_ every time.

Harry groans internally. He should focus at the task at hand instead of his piles and piles of videos to edit. Since when did he become such a workaholic anyway? But he can’t blame his subconscious for drifting into videos because all his life, he’s been a slut for movies and video editing. So, even when he’s drowning in videos, he won’t complain.

‘You look handsome in that one, love,’ Paula comments, arranging the lapel of this black ensemble.

He looks at himself at the mirror to see how this suit fits him. It really does look good on him. He seems paler than he seems to be but it also gives him an edge like he can own the world if he wants to.

The man looking back at him in the mirror seems different; the reflection he’s seeing is of someone who is confident, definitely not the normal Harry who hides himself away behind his monitor because that’s what he does best: hide. But with this suit – he’ll wear it like a mask – maybe he can convince himself that he can be better, that he can be different for one day and finally fit in Zayn’s world.

He’s tempted enough to make some 007 poses just to give justice to Pierce Brosnan. He had always wanted to be in MI6 and go undercover. It feels like that right now.

His long hair may look a bit greasy – he got no time to go to a proper salon with his job always so hectic – but it doesn’t show when he’s wearing this suit. For all he knows, people could just assume it’s a new hair product from TIGI.

He stares at his broad shoulder, snugly fitting the blazer and he feels so powerful like he can do anything, be anything or anyone. Maybe with this suit he can become whatever he wanted to be: someone who’s not hurting, someone who’ll be strong enough to let go, someone with a brand new heart.

‘I’ll take it,’ he says to Paula, his eyes not leaving his own reflection in the mirror because he wants to convince himself that he can be that brave and sophisticated person he’s seeing in the mirror; he can do this without breaking.

**

You will think that since Harry’s often editing wedding videos he’d be enthusiastic about weddings. Close enough, but he hates marriage in general. It’s a bizarre thing in his mind. It’s like that funny post his friend posted on Facebook last month: _I love you. You love me. Let’s get the government involve so you can’t run away from me._

Harry’s never been the most religious Christian in church, only attending mass on Easter with his mum and sister, but he’d always been suspicious of marriages. Did Adam and Eve even get married before they had kids? If they didn’t, what’s the use of marriages?

Or it could be that Harry’s prejudice – maybe he’s even bitter – about marriages; people getting their happily-ever-after while Harry tries to narrate it into a short film. He sounds like a reluctant fairy godmother.

‘Are you okay?’ Zayn asks Harry, adjusting his own blazer and the corsage on his lapel.

They’ve been at this inn suite for hours now, ready to walk down the aisle. And Harry had already named the five different flowers in the vase of their suite: roses, peonies, hydrangeas, carnations, and tulips. He might have also traced the patterns of the carpet like a labyrinth game that he had loved when he was a wee kid.

‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’ Harry teases but it sounded lifeless, looking up from where he’s sitting on the ottoman.

Zayn just gives him a funny look and continues to arrange his lapel. He’s standing at the other corner of the room and checking his cuffs and everything.

‘Give me that,’ Harry says impatiently as he walks towards Zayn. He swats Zayn’s hand away. Zayn gives in easily and Harry arranges Zayn’s suit jacket. ‘You’re not getting cold feet, are you?’ Harry asks and focuses on Zayn’s white rose corsage so much he’s getting crossed eyed. He needs to have a distraction so he doesn’t look up into Zayn’s eyes that he can feel boring holes into his head.

‘I’m not,’ Zayn  answers. ‘Are you?’

Harry chuckles at how genuine the question sounds. Not that it matters how Harry feels anyway.

He shakes his head in reply and straightens up. He gives Zayn two soft pat in the shoulder and musters the most convincing smile he can.

‘All good,’ he announces.

‘How do I look?’ Zayn asks, staring into Harry almost as if he’s dependent to the younger lad.

 _Beautiful_ , Harry wants to say but he tucks it under his tongue because that’s not what Zayn needs to hear, that’s not what Harry’s suppose to say. ‘One shower better than yesterday,’ he jokes because he needs it to be casual.

Zayn punches him softly in the arm. ‘Twat.’

They share a smile and Zayn goes to the floor length mirror to check himself fully.

And Harry watches Zayn arrange his hair for the hundredth time, side half shaved like the geek rebel that he is.

Harry stares again at Zayn, this time freely. It’s okay because he won’t get caught. He can pretend he’s looking at himself when really he’s watching Zayn, memorising every tiny detail into memory because this could be all he gets.

This is all he gets.

He sees the changes in Zayn, like the changes in him. They’ve both grown from boy to man. He can’t remember how that scrawny boy from first day at uni transformed into this Greek god; the boy with new ideas at any minute, now a man who’s discovered a place amongst the geniuses of the world; Zayn, the boy who have passion burning behind his eyes that he still holds it up to this day even when society tried to put if off.

When people look at Zayn, they see a successful engineer and CEO. But Harry sees more, knows which part in Zayn’s left hand has that L scar when they tried to make a rocket in their second year; Harry can map out where to tickle Zayn that’ll make the boy snort his drink or food through his nose; Harry had catalogue all of Zayn’s hopes and dreams and fears, and every story in their late night talk that can start from the Theory of Relativity and ends up with Zayn’s favourite Power Ranger or Harry’s baker experiences.

Harry can close his eyes and he can still put Zayn back together if Zayn’s a puzzle piece Harry needs to solve. He just doesn’t know which shape goes to which, but he can tell what are the colours in that piece or what the edges on each pieces mean, why are they shape like that.

And he’s not going to brag about the information that he knows about Zayn. He won’t because there’s nothing noble about his stashed facts regarding Zayn. Nobody has ever taught him to know someone so deeply – better than yourself – and then thrash all that knowledge because they will be no use anymore.

In this lifetime, Harry’s not the one who’s supposed to memorise every detail that makes Zayn tics – but still, Harry did. And now, all those time learning about Zayn is a waste. He won’t have an opportunity to apply them because that’s Eleanor’s job now.

Lovely, perfect Eleanor who’s marrying Zayn Malik a few minutes from now. Harry only hopes that she’d revised about Zayn like he did.

**

‘I’m not really good with speeches,’ Harry begins, holding his flute near his stomach as he stares around the room full of Eleanor and Zayn’s family and friends. ‘The last speech I made was for my Public Speaking class in which I fainted and gave myself a head laceration.’

A polite chuckle from the audience fills the room.

He looks at the table, not minding the fifteen other circular tables before him filled with guests, whose eyes will all be on him. He’s in a table closest to the table of the newly wed, with their parents and siblings on either side of the couple.

He clears his throat to buy himself time. He needs time. He needs a lot of time to prepare himself if he plans to survive being the centre of everyone’s attention. He’s never been great with crowds that he’d even stuttered and tripped over his own tongue whilst doing a speech at his mum’s wedding.

All he needs to do is not faint – that’d be embarrassing – he keeps reminding himself. For now, that’s the top priority: not passing out.

‘So, don’t worry about me passing out because I’ve already prepared a mattress to fall into,’ he jokes. ‘And as much as I am honoured to be chosen as Best Man, I’m also going to get Zayn back for this speech because if I mess this up, they both could unfriend me from Facebook. Can you imagine the pressure set on our friendship?’

There are a few smiles and giggles.

‘So, in return, I’m going to dish a little about Zayn.’ He can hear a few _yes_ from the crowd and Zayn groaning from his table and the prominent sound of Eleanor’s giggle. ‘Maybe you all see Zayn as this artistic engineer with incredible talent in architecture, but what you don’t know is deep down, Zayn has a massive doll collection.’

 ‘They’re action figures,’ Zayn corrects from his table.

It only makes the guests laugh.

‘Whatever. It doesn’t make you any less of a dork,’ he retorts, now looking at Zayn for the first time since his speech. He gains himself another series of mellow laughter for his remark.

 _I can do this_ , he silently repeats in his mind. He looks away from Zayn before it hurts – before it hurts more. He focuses on the blurry image of the people around him – the lights in the room suddenly feel too bright. They’re all watching him, clothed in their beautiful and expensive dresses and suits.

Harry wonders if how many of them are wearing their suit or dresses for the first time for an occasion like he is? Or maybe that’s their favourite YSL suit, their grandest Chanel dress and everything is perfect for them right now.

Nothing is perfect to Harry right now though. His Gucci seems a bit stuffy and he’s not sure anymore. What is he even doing? Why did he say yes when Zayn asked him to be his best man? What was Harry thinking then?

He stares down on his glass, the bubbling champagne sparkles slightly in the radiation of the light.

 _I can do this,_ he repeats

He lets out a sigh. ‘I’ve known Zayn since I was eighteen.’ He smiles at the memory of their first meeting because they instantly bonded over Tim Burton, they are both massive fans of his art. They watched _The Corpse Bride_ over and over again. And then _Alice in Wonderland,_ the Disney version, starring Johnny Depp, because they’re also fans of Captain Jack Sparrow.

Maybe it was fate.

_Maybe._

‘And he’s been my best friend since,’ he continues, licking his lips to stall some time. ‘Even if he’s such a crappy roommate in uni because our rooms would always smell like Sharpie ink since he’s always sketching God-knows-what houses. Because sometimes it’s a skyscraper then suddenly he’s arguing about which window design is best to put in Thor’s mansion if he ever lives in Brighton.’ He smiles sadly at the nostalgia it brings him.

Polite laughter follows.

‘I was so afraid he was going to end up building tiny houses for his Marvel dolls,’ Harry teases and it echoes back a merry response from his listeners.

‘Action figures,’ Zayn corrects again.

Harry replies a grin.

‘I didn’t see the appeal in sketching houses for fiction characters when he could be using his talents somewhere else.’ He glances back at his glass again. ‘I mean, why make a blueprint of a house with a dungeon fit to keep a dragon, or with a basement lab to keep Minions?’ More laughter. ‘Then Eleanor came and the houses became normal looking, the skyscrapers are no longer Infinity Stone generated.’

 _I can do this,_ he reminds himself, fingers tightening their hold on his glass.

‘In this world, you need to find your muse.’ He looks up so it’s not rude, but he stares at the far back where a vacant white wall stands. ‘Or maybe that’s the poetic perspective for artists.’ He licks his lips. ‘Someone you’ll write all your songs about, someone who will own all the words to your poem, someone to make all the colours in your canvas alive.

‘That’s what a muse is,’ Harry continues. ‘Because passion is useless with no one to render all your masterpieces to.’ He glances at Zayn and sees him staring fervently like Harry’s the only person in the room and Harry’s words are the only bread that he needs to live.

Harry shakes his head. He’s daydreaming again. False hope that won’t help him.

‘Some people call these muses: soulmates.’ He’s still looking at Zayn, because this is all he gets. This is all he is allowed to take _._ And right now, he wishes he had a video camera to record these few precious moments that he gets, short attention from Zayn that will end after he blinks.

 _Soulmates._ The word is too familiar in Harry’s head. He thought it first when he first saw his stepdad, Robin,  kissed his mum’s forehead and held her close as they danced on their wedding day when Harry was seventeen; it was easy, natural like breathing.

That day, on Anne and Robin’s wedding, Harry started thinking about his own soulmate. What will he or she look like? Will they like Hershey Kisses too? Will they support Harry’s fancy for videos?

He almost gave up on the idea of having a perfect someone because Anabelle from his Physics class hated chocolate (too much fat); Richard, his summer fling, didn’t like watching movies.

But then, Zayn came into Harry’s life and it wasn’t like how the movies have stated – it wasn’t like a storm, sweeping Harry off his feet. No, Harry fell for Zayn like Spring coming to end Winter – slowly and beautiful and soft. It was refreshing that Harry swears he smelled blooming Cherry Blossoms in the air since the day he realised his feelings for Zayn. Well, that or Harry’s just addicted to Zayn’s clothe freshener.

‘Sometimes we find them,’ he continues still looking at Zayn. ‘Sometimes we don’t.’ He goes back into starring at the far end of the room. ‘You’re lucky if you fall for them.’ He looks back at Zayn again. ‘And luckier if they love you back as well.’

 _I can do this_ , he tells himself once again like a false assurance so he won’t fall apart before he finishes what he’s suppose to do. He’s doing this for Zayn.

‘So, when you find them, when they love you back; you hold on to them.’ He unconsciously tightens his grip on his flute. ‘You tell them how you feel: that you love them with every single DNA in your body. And you never let them go.’

Maybe only a few are lucky to end up with their soulmates. Maybe Harry’s not one of the lucky persons who’ll get a happily-ever-after like he sees on films. And he has to accept that.

‘You tell them.’ His voice cracks a little. He inhales and exhales to compose himself. ‘And you… never let them go.’

 _I can do this,_ he silently chants, holding on to the words like lifeline. It’s the only thing that glues him together, that keeps him from breaking.

‘So, here’s to Zayn and Eleanor,’ he raises his glass, ‘the lucky ones.’ He fakes a smile. ‘May they continue to inspire each other and live their happily-ever-after.’ He motions his glass upwards and everybody else follows. ‘Cheers.’

He sits down immediately, feeling how his knees and hands shake. But he has survived. Now, he needs to find more courage to tell Zayn about his plans of transferring to LA to work for Tim Burton Productions.

He tells himself he’s going because it’s been his dream and not because it hurts to see Zayn and Eleanor together. Definitely that.

Not because Zayn and Eleanor will be visiting him and his shitty flat together now. Not because Zayn will probably gush about Eleanor more now. Not because it’s not going to be the same after the wedding.

Definitely not.

He’s long been over the fact that Zayn and Eleanor sleep on the same bed like Zayn and Harry when Harry watched a terrifying movie about ghosts and demons – he almost surrounded their door and window with salt that one time. Harry had accepted for long now that he’ll never get to taste Zayn’s lips that he’d been staring a lot for the last seven years. He’d already drilled into his mind that he will never hold Zayn’s hand out in public and feel the warmth of Zayn’s palm against his own.

He’s accepted these facts. But they still hurt like the first time Zayn had said: _I’ve gotta tell you about this girl I’ve met_ with that silly smile on his face and twinkle in his eyes.

Is it him or the room is suddenly so small? His suit is so stuffy as well, like any minute now it’s going to choke him.

He needs air. He needs to get out.

**

 He’s pacing back and forth at the far end of the inn’s massive garden. The noise from the white tent – where the reception is – doesn’t stop or lessen when Harry leaves. Of course it won’t. The party will continue, everyone will look glamorous in their best suits and dresses as they dance the night off to celebrate Zayn and Eleanor’s love.

But Harry can’t pretend to do that. Not after his speech that wrecked him inside out, that punctured him till he can’t move because it hurt like someone operating his heart without using anaesthesia.

‘H?’

Harry turns like instinct towards the owner of that voice because that’s what he’s been doing for the last seven years, he can’t seem to shrug off the habit.

‘Hey.’ Zayn walks towards him, all in glorious suit and amazing hair – Harry’s hair is messy because he keeps running his hand through it out of nerves.

‘Hey,’ Harry replies back, faking a smile.

Zayn stops and stares at his black faux leather shoes that must have cost a lot. He’s in all black: black tux above black inside shirt. He looks beautiful against the faint yellowish lamp of the garden, it’s giving him some sort of halo effect.

Harry just stares at Zayn and Zayn stares at his own shoes. The cicadas sing softly in the background as the night begins to get colder despite the summer season.

It almost feels like that time when they were so sleepy whilst waiting for the sunrise at Brighton dock during one summer outing with their mates. Harry can’t even remember why they wanted to watch the sunrise, but they did. It was magical.

Or that time they went camping because they wanted to see their first meteor shower. Harry made a lot of wishes that night with his hands inside Zayn’s trackie bottom pockets because that’s the real formula to get your wishes granted. And he’s not going to forget the feel of Zayn’s solid back as he hugs Zayn from behind to get his hands into available pockets. The musky smell of Zayn and the nature around them is etched into Harry’s memory

‘So LA?’ Zayn begins, looking up at Harry and then looking back down to his shoes where he’s kicking an invisible pebble on the ground; both of his hands inside the pocket of his trousers.

Harry’s breath is caught in his throat and his heart skips a beat.

Zayn wasn’t suppose to know. Or well, Harry had never had the courage to tell Zayn because it’s almost like a goodbye. And Harry’s bad at goodbyes.

The answer is obvious in Harry’s face and Zayn sees it because they’ve known each other for so long to be able to talk even without speaking.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Zayn asks, hurt that his best friend missed on sharing an important change in his life. Zayn’s the first to know that Harry wanted to edit videos even before Harry had thought of it because it was just a hobby to him. It was Zayn who indulge Harry’s love for old movies and Tim Burton.

Harry’s not ready for this confrontation. How does he lie? Zayn will know if he lies. He can still try. Or he can ignore Zayn’s question.

‘This isn’t like you, H,’ Zayn continues, moving a step towards Harry. Zayn looks pained, Harry’s the one who put that expression in his face. ‘When did you keep things like this from me?’ His huge sad eyes on Harry.

The look on Zayn’s eyes as he glances at Harry isn’t right. Harry doesn’t like it. He’s not suppose to upset Zayn. But he realise, Zayn’s also not suppose to hurt him.

‘Go back to your party, Zayn,’ he tells him instead because he’s also upset and broken because Zayn’s married to Eleanor. And at the same time he’s angry at himself for making Zayn sad. ‘We’ll talk about it after your honeymoon or whatever.’

He doesn’t have the right to get angry at Zayn because Zayn’s innocent. Harry’s own self frustrations are falsely aimed at Zayn.

‘And I wouldn’t have known about it if Anne didn’t tell me five minutes ago,’ he accuses. ‘You didn’t tell me about your promotion four months before. And how that last week, your mum was at the hospital because she broke her left arm. What else are you hiding Harry?’ He‘s out of breath. ‘I thought we were the best of friends,’ he points out in that heart-breaking tone that punches Harry.

Harry’s been a selfish person. He’s slowly taking himself off Zayn’s life because that’s the easiest way for him to say goodbye with having to say it out loud.

‘You’re different now,’ Zayn adds.

‘We both are,’ he responds with a wry smile, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He’s tempted to say how it’s because he’s in love with him, while Zayn’s in love with Eleanor; that changes a lot of things between them.

Zayn just stares at him sadly, like he’s trying to find the words or actions to fix whatever had been broken between them; because that’s what Zayn do best: he fixes things.

Harry doesn’t need fixing though. He needed to start anew, without Zayn, even when it hurts; because in this moment – Harry in his expensive Gucci suit – he’s _almost_ invincible. He’d conquered his Best Man’s speech, so he can do this even when the only thing that awaits him is a broken heart.

‘Do you remember the first movie that we watched together?’ he asks Zayn, looking at the herb yarrow that won’t probably survive the summer heat. ‘It was _The Wedding Singer_ ,’ he continues. ‘It was before we got pretentious and only watch Tim Burton and Audrey Hepburn and Wes Anderson films.’

 ‘You fucking sang _Grow Old With You_ anywhere we went.’ Zayn smiles at the memory. ‘And you even forced me to sing it to you twice.’

‘That’s because I won on our sandwich bet,’ Harry points out.

‘I’ll never eat another tuna sandwich as long as I live.’

They both chuckle, dispersing the awkward air around them.

‘And that night, when you stealthily wiped the tears from your eyes as Adam Sandler sings to Drew Berrymore and you mouthed the lyrics of the song…’ he swallows, feeling his throat closing, ‘…I fell in love with you.’

Zayn just stares, his mouth opening slightly at the news.

‘I loved you even more when you brought back home the whole Jurassic series from the rental store after Bryan ended our six months relationship.’ He smiles painfully and bites at his lower lip as he sniff. ‘Maybe it was Spielberg or maybe it was your amazing chicken curry that you cooked for me that night.’ He looks back at Zayn. ‘I almost slipped the first _I love you_ that I’d been saving for my soulmate that night when you cuddled with me.

‘And since then, the _I love you_ remains hanging at the end of my tongue and I’ve _always_ been tempted to say it when you wear my jumper and it looks too big on you, or when I’m so drunk and you force me to drink water.’ His eyes are brimming with tears so he looks up and sniffs. He eyes Zayn again. ‘I’ve wanted to tell you every time you cook me breakfast on days when I pull an all-nighter because of my thesis. I swear I’ll whisper it to you every time when you let me choose what movie we’ll be watching for our weekly movie marathon.’ He licks his lips and looks away. ‘There were so many times I could have told you. So many opportunities, but I got scared. I was afraid it was going to change us both and I didn’t want that.

‘I was hoping that you’d fall in love with me too.’ He smiles sadly. ‘Maybe you’d realise how much better your coffee tastes when I make it, that you fit in my arms perfectly when we cuddle, that you can’t live without me because I organise your sketching table so you don’t have to hit your head again just to find your ruler.’ He grimaces playfully, so he won’t cry. ‘Of course that didn’t happen because it only works for movies… And that really sucks… It also hurts like a bitch.’

Zayn looks like he’s about to say something but Harry cuts him off.

‘Please don’t say you’re sorry,’ he begs. ‘Don’t say anything at all because it’s going to be more real if you response. And to be honest, I don’t want any of this to be true because it’s embarrassing and it hurts.’ He inhales and then exhales. ‘So, we can leave it like this, like it never happened because nothing changes after this.’

He doesn’t wait for Zayn to respond, doesn’t want to hear rejection that’s about to come. So, he leaves before it totally breaks his heart because he chooses to save himself this time.

**

His flight is three hours delayed and he’s cursing himself for being five hours early. He loves spending times in airports instead of saying sad goodbyes to his mum, Robin, and his sister because he might change his mind and not leave.

He really does love airports, like what he’s seen in _Love Actually_. There are people saying goodbye, which is upsetting; but there are also people reuniting. It’s all different for everybody.

Harry remembers his first trip to the airport when he was seven and he was waving his Dad goodbye after his parents’ official divorce. He was too young to understand that his father was going to a faraway place and he’d probably only see Des once a year or once every two years.

But he do recall how much he loved being in a clean building, everything seems to be coloured white; he also loved the sound of the staff calling the passengers for their flight schedule; and he likes seeing many people pulling their trolley bags around them (he asked his mum if she could him that sort of bag for his second grade).

Airport for Harry’s young mind was a magical place where chores don’t exist and there’s a telly on the wall where everyone can watch for free. It was new and it was wonderful.

Harry’s naïve then, thinking that airport is a special place because he only got to be in one again when he was ten, waiting for his dad’s arrival from Tokyo where he had been assign as a journalist.

And as he grew up, airports had always had a special place in his heart because he’d had watch a lot of films that had airport scenes. Some about romance, while most about reuniting with people you love.

Though this time, Harry’s airport scene would be about leaving everyone he loves. And he needs to be brave. This is his dream he’s following. He’s been thinking about it for three months and that’s enough time to think and know that he’s not throwing his life away.

 _‘Paging Harry Edward Styles, you are requested at Gate 3_ ,’ says the airport announcer over the speakers. _‘Again, paging Harry Edward Styles to please proceed to Gate 3. Thank you.’_

He couldn’t believe what he’s hearing. This is the first time it has happened to him. What could be the problem? They’re not arresting him for being eight hours early for his flight, right?

He pushes his trolley and adjusted his hold alls on his shoulder and proceeds to Gate 3. It’s the in the middle of the airport and he waits as the other passengers passing through the gate goes into inspection.

‘Harry.’

He hears someone and he turns towards the voice because he _always_ will. And there’s Zayn showing off his weird Naruto run (he never runs because he’s embarrass of it) like he doesn’t even care if he looks silly.

He’s panting when he reaches Harry and puts his hands on his knees and catches his breath. Harry’s just staring at him, simply not believing that Zayn’s here. It looks like those cliché airport scenes from movies.

Harry’s fond of airport scenes but it’s fucking ridiculous right now. What does he do with this situation? How does he act after that awkward conversation with Zayn two weeks ago? He looks around like he’s hoping there’s going to be a director who will wean him how the script goes or what Harry’s lines are suppose to be.

But this is real life. Not a movie.

‘Hey,’ Zayn greets with a smile, looking up and straightening himself. He’s still panting a bit – always the person who lacks exercise.

‘Zayn,’ he says it like he’s trying to find sense in everything that’s happening. ‘You’re here.’

‘Of course, you idiot,’ Zayn replies with a snort. ‘You didn’t say goodbye.’

Harry blinks once and then twice at the incredulity of the situation. How can everything be so normal after Harry’s confession and their no communication? He did say that they should keep things as they are but that was a false hope, his own First Stage of Grief.

‘I need to see you before you go,’ Zayn supplies because Harry’s at lost for word. ‘We’re best friends, right? And it’s going to be a long time till we see each other again so, I don’t want to miss this opportunity.’

‘Wait…’ Harry can’t wrap his head around this. ‘The paging… it was you?’

Zayn nods, looking guilty. ‘How else would I find you?’

‘You could run around like they do in movies,’ Harry points out as if Zayn’s dumb. Ang again, why is this still normal?

Zayn laughs. ‘Idiot,’ he mutters. ‘It’ll take me all day and I’ll miss you and they’ll have to carry me out because I won’t be able to move my legs.’

Harry nods with a smile because it’s true.

‘Plus, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise,’ Zayn adds mischievously.

‘You’ve watch too much films,’ Harry accuses and chuckles.

‘No, thanks to you,’ Zayn retorts.

They’re both smiling like nothing had changed but when they locked eyes, they knew that everything had changed. They’re going to be best friends but they’ll both keep their distance so Harry can forget and so Zayn won’t hurt Harry anymore.

Zayn crosses the space between them and cups Harry’s face and kisses him long and sweet like he’s afraid if he lets go Harry will break.

It’s taken Harry by surprise, Zayn’s soft lips that he’s been dreaming of for the majority of his teen life and how they’re so gentle and how they fit right against his perfectly. He feels the long fingers that carry his face with so much care, it burns into his memory and makes his head dizzy.

And maybe this isn’t Harry’s typical airport scene where the lovers get reunited as they both confess their undying love for each other, but at least he gets to have this closure with Zayn.

Harry pulls back first, their foreheads touching as they share the same breath of air, not minding the judgemental stares of the people around them, because cheers and clapping when other people are kissing only happens in movies too.

‘I’ll always be your best friend, yeah?’ Zayn whispers to him, hands still holding Harry’s face carefully. ‘Always.’ He kisses the tip of Harry’s nose.

Harry just smiles and nods.

It hurts. But the pain will go away. He’s stronger now, he managed to confess his feelings and man-up not to ruin Zayn’s happiness. He’s better even without his Gucci suit that he used as an armour at Zayn’s wedding.

This isn’t the end because Harry’s walking away with a new chapter at hand. And that’s the fun in in real life, you get to decide when the credits will start rolling.

_Fin._

 

 _To say you swept me off my feet_  
_is a colossal understatement._  
_You slammed into me like tsunami,_  
_you wrecked me like a hurricane._  
_I don’t know how to kiss you_  
_without letting you devour me entirely._  
_I don’t know how to touch you_  
_without drowning in your skin completely._  
_When you hold me_  
_I want to fade into you altogether._  
_Just please hold my heart_  
_I don’t care if you break it_  
_at least you’re touching me,_  
_at least I’m feeling you._  
**-Anon**

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like it. You know the drill. :)


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